


The Killing Moon

by clgfanfic



Category: Counterstrike (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 06:44:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabrielle ends up a hostage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Killing Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine A Small Circle of Friends #3 and later in Black Ops #10 under the pen name Jamie Hector. This is based on an episode of The Burning Zone.

_No one sees me.  No one.  I walk among the prey like a lion in the grass and they see nothing.  I smile as I pass them on the sidewalk and they cannot see my true purpose.  They do not even see my camera.  My hidden lens looks into their souls.  It sees what no one else can see.  They are so pitiful.  They are not worthy of my skills._

_But I'm feeling restless again.  I'm thinking things, feeling thoughts that stir my blood.  I've started hunting.  I must find my prey, and soon.  The time is close, so very close.  I know I have to hurry, but they are all so… insignificant._

_I feel no fear, no remorse as I examine them.  Tall, short, blonde, brunette, they are nothing to me.  Less than nothing.  I am the wolf, they the rabbit.  This is the way things have to be.  Predator and prey.  But where is the worthy one?_

_These are not perfect.  These are not worthy of me.  I cannot touch these pathetic quarry._

_I am looking for the worthy one, the deserving one, the perfect one._

_Wait…  There.  I think I've found her._

_Yes.  Oh, yes.  There isn't any doubt, she's the one.  Yes, the one.  The only one._

_She is perfection.  She alone is worthy of the hunt, of my power, my kill._

_I've just got to have her…_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Oh, my.  Oh, dear.  Oh…" the elder physician muttered as he accompanied Peter Sinclair and Gabrielle Germont down the corridor of the large Wisconsin hospital.  "I never– I mean– If I had known–"

"Mr. Addington is quite satisfied that you and the other administrators had no idea what Dr. Roberts was involved with," Sinclair assured the nervous man.

Tall and blond, Sinclair looked to be in his early forties.  The head of a three-person team of troubleshooters for the billionaire industrialist Alexander Addington, Sinclair had left a promising position at Scotland Yard for the better funded, less restrictive position in Addington's organization.

The older man nodded distractedly, absently wiping his damp palms on his medical coat. "Good– If we had known– Organ harvesting… so terrible, so tragic."

Gabrielle and Peter exchanged half-amused glances.  The hospital, one of many owned by Addington Medical, had come to their attention after a twenty-seven percent increase in the morbidity rate, an increase they were able to link directly to the illegal harvesting of organs from non-insured patients.  Dr. Carl Roberts was on his way to jail, and the three security agents were ready to head back to Toronto.

The doctor looked at Gabrielle, a chagrined expression on his face.  "And it's thanks to you that Dr. Roberts was stopped," he said, reaching out to take her hand in his.  "I can't thank you enough; if this had become public knowledge…  Oh, dear. Oh, my…"  He shook his head, hunching his shoulders against the spate of images the notion generated.  "We were lucky, so very lucky.  Mr. Addington was quite correct to send you.  Yes, yes, quite correct."

"I'm just glad we were able to put an end to this," Gabby said, her voice softly accented.  A French photojournalist, she had been recruited for Addington's counterstrike team when her research into Sinclair and his previous associates brought her too close to the truth.  Resourceful and intelligent, the pretty blonde had proved herself an asset to the team on several occasions, including this one.  Posing as a corruptible medical case worker, Roberts had shared his scheme with her and that had allowed then to bring his harvesting to an end.

They stopped at the elevators and Stone, turning from the nurses' station, walked over to join them.  The tall, lanky American's expression was serious as he said, "Roberts is on his way downtown."

Sinclair nodded.  "Good, we need to get to the airport."  He turned to the older man.  "Dr. Shivington," he said, extending a hand.  The old man took it.

"Thank you again, all of you."

"Just glad we got the guy before he made off with any of my, uh, more important parts," Stone replied wryly.  The ex-Navy SEAL turned CIA operative turned team member had played the role of a homeless patient, providing the bait they needed to catch Roberts.

"And what parts would those be?" Gabrielle asked teasingly, pushing the down arrow button on the elevator.

Stone's grin was wolfish.  "A gentleman never tells."

"Then what's stopping you?" Gabby countered.

A nurse at the nearby station called, "Mr. Sinclair?"

"That's me," Peter replied, taking a step towards the station as the elevator bell binged.

"There's a call for you from a Mr. Stone?"

"What?" Stone snapped, his retort forgotten as he turned and strode after Sinclair.  "How am I calling you?"

"I'll meet you in the lobby," Gabrielle called, stepping into the elevator as Peter accepted the phone.

"Hello?"  He listened a moment, then hung up, looking at Stone.  "Nothing."

Both men turned simultaneously back toward the elevator, watching the floor lights pop on and off as it descended.  The "L" lit, but the car did not stop and the basement "B" lit.

"I don't like this," Stone growled.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

In the elevator Gabrielle watched the floor buttons light up as she descended toward the lobby.  When the "L" lit she took a step forward.

"What?" she said softly, reaching out to press the button for the lobby.

The elevator continued on, the basement light blinking on a moment before the doors opened.  Gabrielle stayed in the safety of the car, peering out into the murky shadows.  From all appearances she had ended up in a utility area.  Leaning forward slightly, she pressed the close door button and waited.  Nothing.

With a sigh she stepped out of the elevator car, the doors sliding shut behind her.  Letting her eyes adjust to the dim light she blinked several times, then turned, looking for an exit sign.

"Boo."

She jumped, gasping softly before swinging around to face whoever had startled her.  A man stood, a sheepish grin on his face.  Her gaze swept over his oily coveralls, but settled on his clean hands.  Warning bells sounded in the back of her mind and she took a deep breath, mentally preparing to fight if she had to.

"Sorry," the man said, pushing light brown hair off his forehead with a hand.  "Didn't mean to scare you, it's just we don't get many visitors down here."

"And how do your visitors get out of here?" she asked as casually as she could.

"Huh, well, that's a little complicated.  Maybe I should show you."

Gabby took a half-step back, giving her the space she needed for a well placed kick.  "Just point me in the general direction," she suggested.  "I'll find my way out."

The man nodded and pointed behind her.

Taking one step back, Gabrielle turned and started off at a brisk pace.  Immediately she heard the man following her and turned to face him.  Seeing his hand closing on her, she lashed out with a sidekick to his midsection that doubled him over with a grunt.

Turning, she sprinted into the shadows, but the utility area was a maze of metal shelves, cabinets and chain-link walls.  A bellow warned her of the impending attack a moment before she was grabbed and thrown against the chain-link wall of an enclosure.  She bounced off the wire, twisting around and swinging at the man.  Her open hand caught the man's cheek and she raked her nails along his skin, opening three shallow furrows that immediately filled with blood.

He cried out, a hand immediately coming up to his face.  His fingers came away bloody.

Gabrielle tried to bolt, but he was too fast, grabbing her and slamming her back into the chain-link wall.  She struggled, but he stepped closer, using his size and weight to trap her against the cage wall.  Grabbing her shirtfront, he forced her around so her face was pressed painfully against the cold wire.  Then, before she could fight further, he removed a soaked washcloth from his pocket and forced it over her face.  After a moment her struggles became feebler, then stopped as she sagged unconscious to the concrete floor.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Alexander Addington instructed his driver to stay put, then climbed from the rear seat of his borrowed car, striding across the parking garage toward the small tangle of police.  He glanced around, a frown creasing his distinguished face.

A young detective stepped up to intercept him, but before he could speak, Addington snapped, "Where are your forensics people?"

"On the way," the detective said, studying the older man.  Grey-brown hair hinted at Addington's true age, but his face was tanned and his eyes vibrant.  The cane Addington used suggested wealth and power more than any handicap.  "Look, I need you to call your men off, they're–"

Addington stopped, turning slightly to meet the young detective's nervous gaze.  "It's been nearly an hour, there's no crime lab personnel here and you're telling me my people are in the way?"

He felt his head dip before he could stop it and silently cursed the rich and powerful who thought they had all the answers.  The truly annoying thing was, in this case they just might.  He forced his chin up.  "Mr. Sinclair made his credentials clear," he said.  "But this is my crime scene."

"Then I suggest you get the people you need down here," Addington said before stalking off when he caught sight of Peter.

Joining Sinclair, he asked, "What the hell happened, Peter?"

"We're not exactly sure," Peter admitted.  "Gabrielle seems to have been kidnapped."

"Associates of Roberts?"

"Perhaps."  He took a deep breath.  "But I rather doubt it.  Stone found some blood."

"Are you all right?" Addington asked, his voice softened with concern.

Sinclair nodded.  "But Stone's taking it pretty hard.  He–"  He stopped as the ex-SEAL emerged from the shadows and walked over to join them.

Stone waved a small plastic box with several wires dangling out of it at them. "Induction tap," he announced.  "Whoever was down here was tapped into the elevator and the environmental controls."

The detective stepped up to join them.  "Look, I really have to ask you to leave now.  The crime lab boys are here."

Stone and Sinclair exchanged glances, but Sinclair nodded to the detective.  "We'll be in touch," he said, heading off, Addington at his side.

The detective reached out, catching Stone's arm as he moved to follow them. "Look, I can't say anything officially, but if you guys have the kind of clout I think you do. . ."  He glanced around to make sure no one was paying any particular attention to him, then added, "It might be interesting if you took a look at our crime reports for the last year."

Stone's eyes narrowed, but he nodded.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Gabrielle groaned softly, the dull pounding in her head and thick dryness in her mouth telling her she was still in trouble.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," a taunting male voice called.

Her mind raced, putting together all of the images and sensations into a coherent memory.  She raised her head and opened her eyes, blinking several times to clear her vision.  She was in a warehouse of some kind.  Wooden crates were stacked in rows, pieces of old equipment scattered around.  But it was her immediate surroundings that drew her full attention.

She was seated in a large wooden chair, leather straps securing her tightly in place.  In front of her were several 35 mm cameras mounted on tripods, as well as a video camera, behind which stood the man who had attacked her.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

The man grinned.  _Yes, she is the worthy one.  So perfect.  So very perfect.  She is worthy of my skill._

"My name is Gabrielle Germont," she continued when he failed to reply.  "Tell me your name, please?"

He chuckled softly and shook his head.  Looking at her over the top of the video camera, he said, "It won't work, you know.  I understand the technique; you tell me your name, I tell you mine.  We talk, you become a human being in my eyes, making it harder for me to kill you.  But it really won't work.  I already know who you are, Gabrielle."  He ducked his head, pressing an eye to the video viewfinder.  "I can see you so clearly now," he said almost lovingly.  "You are the one."

"The one what?" she asked, straining against the leather straps.

"The chosen one," he said, zooming in on her frightened expression.  Her blue eyes flashed with anger, sending bolts of excitement along his skin.  "I've been looking for you for a long time now.  And now I have you."

He suddenly stood and she flinched back in the chair.  "Look, I need to know your name," she pressed.

"You can call me Hunter," he said, walking past her to a long work bench.  "Are you hungry, Gabrielle?  I have everything here you like.  Yogurt, fruit, toast… with strawberry jam."

"I'm not hungry," she snapped.  "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I am the hunter," he said softly.  Reaching out, he gently stroked her soft blonde hair.  "And you are my prey.  My perfect, perfect prey."

She jerked her head, trying to escape his touch.  Hunter chuckled softly, then turned and walked away.  "I'll be back, Gabrielle."

She listened to the echoes of his footfalls until they faded away, then called as loudly as she could, "Help!  Can anyone hear me?  Please, help me!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Stone stalked through the door into the hospital conference room Addington had commandeered.  "I just got off the phone with Detective Mossly, the young guy from the crime scene."

"And?" Sinclair asked.

"The blood we found at the scene wasn't Gabby's."

"Then it must be her attacker's," Addington stated.

"Probably," Stone agreed.  "But that doesn't get us any closer to finding out who the hell he is."

"No, but this might," Sinclair said, motioning Stone to join him at a computer that had been set up at one end of the long oval table that dominated the room.

The ex-SEAL moved around the table, pushing in several chairs to clear his path and joining the two men at the monitor.  "What've ya got?"

Sinclair tapped a key and a shadowy dark image crossed in front of a surveillance camera.

"Yeah, so?" Stone asked.  "You can't make out a damned thing – it's too dark."

"Ms. Pervin is sending us some experimental software that might be able to help us," Addington explained.

"And until then?" Stone asked, looking like he was more than ready to go break a few heads to find the information he wanted.

"We follow young detective Mossly's advice and tap into their computer files," Peter replied easily, his fingers already working on the keyboard.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Hey, Pete, I think I have something," Stone called.

Sinclair and Addington, who had been talking in soft tones at the far end of the conference table moved quickly to see what he'd found.

"I ran the data through a pattern-spotting program," Stone said, tapping a key.  "Using the police reports from here and the other neighboring counties it looks like there's been a rash of women disappearing… and turning up dead."

"Look at the time intervals," Sinclair said, pointing at the screen.  "Twenty-seven days, twenty-nine, twenty-nine, twenty-seven–"

"Lunar months," Stone acknowledged, nodding.

"When's the next full moon?" Addington asked.

Peter reached out and pressed the speaker connection to the administrative assistant working in the outer office.  "Ms. Joman?"

"Yes, Mr. Sinclair," the young woman replied.  "Can I help you?"

"Do you have a calendar out there that indicates the dates for the full moon?"

"Uh, I'm not sure, sir.  Let me have a look."

The three men waited anxiously for a few moments before a tentative knock sounded on the door.  "Come," barked Addington.

Another young woman stepped into the room holding a small paperback book in her hands.  "Uh, Nan said you needed to know when the next full moon is?"

"Yes, we do," Peter said, rounding the table to join her.

She handed him the book and he checked the title: _Llewellyn's Magical Almanac_.  Peter's eyebrows rose slightly, but he refrained from commenting.  She indicated a set of grey pages in the middle of the white and Peter opened the book to find a set of monthly calendars.  He flipped to the correct month and scanned the dates until he found the "full moon" listing.

"Tomorrow night," he said thickly.  "At 2:10 AM."

"Uh, actually it'll be 1:10 AM here," the young woman said.  "Time shift."

"Tomorrow?" Addington echoed, his face paling slightly.

"Thank you," Peter told the woman, escorting her to the door and opening it before he handed back the book.

"You're welcome," she said, leaving.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Gabrielle tested the leather straps again, but they hadn't given any more than before and her wrists were already beginning to turn raw.  With a frustrated grunt, she squirmed in the chair, looking around her to see if there was anything she could use to free herself.  The worktable just between and beyond two of the cameras drew her attention.  She could see her uneaten breakfast sitting there, along with a collection of tools and other items hidden in the shadows.

 _There_ , she told herself.  _There has to be something_.

Jerking her legs up against the straps forced the chair to jump slightly closer to the table.  She glanced frantically around, expecting her tormentor to return in response to the echoing bang as the chair legs contacted the cement floor.  Nothing. She jerked again, inching closer to the table.

Fear fueling her strength, she maneuvered the heavy chair next to the work table.  A long Phillip's screwdriver caught her eye and Gabrielle bumped the table twice before it wobbled to the edge where she was able to grasp it between two fingers before it fell off.  Then, manipulating the tool between her fingers she was able to insert the pointed tip under the leather band and use it to unthread the strap.

Blinking away the sweat that dropped into her eyelashes, Gabrielle struggled to force the tip of the screwdriver under the buckle.  She glanced up from time to time, sure that she'd find her abductor watching, but Hunter was nowhere in sight.

With a soft victory cry she was able to pry up the edge of the buckle and tug her hand free.  Shaking, she worked to free herself as swiftly as she could, then bolted for the safety of the shadows.  She crouched there, waiting and listening.  When she heard nothing, she began a rapid search for an exit.

The distant echo of a door slamming urged her on even faster.

"Gabrielle, where are you?" came the man's taunting call.

She ground her teeth and bolted toward the lit "exit" sign.  Reaching the door, she grabbed the handle and pulled, moaning slightly when she realized that it had been chained shut from the outside.

"I hear you.  There is no way out, Gabrielle.  Come back…  Ah, there you are."

She spun, her gaze frantically searching out a weapon, but finding nothing.

He smiled almost kindly at her.  "Where did you think you were going, Gabrielle?  You can't escape.  Your death is ordained.  It's fate.  You cannot escape fate, Gabrielle."

With nothing left to do she bolted, determined to overpower the man, but he was stronger, and she was dragged back to her chair.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Satellite link," the computer announced in the quiet hospital conference room.

"Hey, Pete."  Stone waved, pulling the blond away from one of the secretaries he was talking to.

Addington passed the young woman on her way out and immediately walked to the end of the table to join them.  On the monitor was a very worried-looking Helene Previn.  "Ah, Mr. Addington, I just wanted to tell you that the software is on the way to the hospital; you should have it in less than an hour."

"Thank you, Ms. Previn," the industrialist said.

"Oh," she added.  "Mr. Stone, we found that address you requested.  330 West Yates Avenue."

"Thanks," he said, standing.

"Satellite link," the computer stated as the monitor went blank.

"Address?" Addington asked.

"There might be a survivor," Stone stated, grabbing his black leather jacket and shrugging it on.  "I'm gonna check it out."

Peter nodded.  "Keep in touch, Sport."

Stone nodded, already on his way out.  "Will do."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

A soft rap at the conference room door brought Peter out of the light doze that had claimed him.  He stood and walked to the door, opening it.  A young man waited outside, a package in one hand, a clipboard in the other.  The software.

"Mr. Addington?" the boy asked.

"Peter Sinclair," he replied.

The boy's gaze dropped to the clipboard.  "I have a package for you or a Mr. Addington."

"I'll take it," he assured, extending a hand.

The boy handed him the package, then turned the clipboard around.  "Sign on line seventeen, please."

Sinclair did as instructed.  "Thank you."

"Have a nice day," the boy said before heading off.

Peter stepped back into the room.  "Is that the software?" Addington asked.

"Yes.  Now, let's see if we can find out who our shadowy friend really is."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Stone climbed out of the cab and paid the driver.  He crossed the street, heading for 330 when the front door of the condo opened and a petite young woman stepped out.  "Hey!" he called, jogging to catch up to the woman as she stopped next to an older Accord parked at the curb.

Her head snapped up and she hugged her purse tighter to her side.  "What do you want?"

"Amanda Carl?" Stone asked, reaching the car, but stopping far enough away so he wouldn't panic the woman.

"Yes," she said, reaching up to nervously tuck a strand of long brown hair behind her ear.  "Can I help you?"

"I need to talk to you," Stone said, "about something that happened nine months ago."

He watched her face go white and she grabbed nervously for the door latch.  "I– I don't know what you're talking about.  I'm-I'm l-late for work."

She pulled the car door open and Stone immediately reached out, pushing it closed.  "Look," he snapped.  "The guy who grabbed you has graduated from teasing to killing women.  I–"

"I haven't heard anything on the news," she snapped back, then shook her head.  "I d-don't know what you're talking about.  Now, l-leave me alone."

"Look, lady, a friend of mine's been grabbed.  She's gonna die tomorrow if we can't find her.  I'm just askin' for a little help, that's all."

"No," she said flatly, climbing into her car, pulling the door shut and locking it.

"Damn it!" Stone hissed, slapping the roof of the Accord.

She started the engine and revved it.

He pulled out his wallet and opened it, removing a business card.  "Look, you might be able to save her life.  Please, think about it."  He slipped the card through the crack of the partially opened window.  "Call me if you change your mind."

She gunned the engine again and Stone stepped back, watching her pull away.  "Call me!" he yelled after her.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Stone," Peter said, looking up from the computer when the ex-SEAL stormed into the conference room.  "Any luck?"

"No.  She ain't talkin'.  This guy's got her spooked.  I put J.J. on her; maybe she'll lead us to something we can use, but I'm not gonna count on it."

"Good," Peter stated.  "The software's giving us a clean picture, but it's slower than I'd hoped."

"Where's Mr. A?"

"Resting."

Stone nodded.  "Sounds like a plan."

"I tried," Peter admitted.  "But all I dreamed about was Gabrielle…"

Stone lowered himself into one of the soft leather chairs.  "I'll probably do the same, but I think I'll give it a try anyway."

"Go ahead.  We have another forty minutes before this scan's finished."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Stone's dreams were nothing but a collage of disturbing images and he was grateful when Sinclair finally woke him.  "Got something?" he asked around a wide yawn.

"Only a seventy-eight percent confidence level, but we have a match.  Reece August…"  Peter paused, waiting while police and federal crime databases were searched for information on the man.

Stone stood, stretched and walked over to the large coffee urn in the corner of the room, pouring himself a cup.  He picked up a stale donut and took a bit, softening it up with a sip of the hot coffee.  Carrying donut and coffee with him, he headed for the chair next to Sinclair's and sank down.

"Got it," Peter said, fatigue making his British accent slightly more pronounced.  "August, ex-medical student.  He was expelled from the local university.  It appears his first two victims were fellow medical students.  Apparently he secured them to autopsy tables and performed symbolic autopsies on them…"

"Great," Stone growled, "a psycho with a scalpel."

"It's consistent with the medical examiner's reports on the murdered women. A scalpel was thought to be the primary instrument used."

Stone shook his head.  "Not good enough, Pete, we gotta know where this psycho holes up."

"Maybe we can use this to flush our kidnapper."

"Run it in the paper?

"It's a start.  Look at this," Sinclair said, leaning closer to the monitor screen.        "August purchased an abandoned building… eleven months ago–"

"And the first incident, if Amanda Carl was the first, happened nine months ago," Stone finished.  "I say we go check that building out – now."

"I'll wake Alexander."

Stone nodded.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The brick building was old and dirty.  A faded logo clinging to the street side wall looked like a faded ghost trapped in the brown bricks.  Stone and Peter moved forward together, Addington remaining with the car in case they needed additional help.  Reaching the side of the building, Stone moved confidently along the wall to a door that was chained shut.  He tested the lock and it popped open.  His eyebrows peaked, and he looked to Sinclair, who nodded.  They were going in.

Removing the chain as quietly as possible, Stone laid it by the wall, then pulled the door open.  Inside the gloomy light that managed to filter through the dust coated windows did little to show them what they might be facing.  With deep breaths the pair moved inside.

The building, while still choked with crates and abandoned pieces of machinery, held no captive.  The pair split up, moving stealthily through the maze.

"Stone," Sinclair called after several minutes.

The ex-SEAL doubled back, moving swiftly though the narrow aisles created by the crates until he found his partner.

Sinclair stood next to a large wooden chair that sat in a cleared section of floor space.  In the chair sat a naked female mannequin.  A blonde wig rested slightly askew on the thing's head, and someone had carelessly rubbed lipstick across its lips.

"Damn it!" Stone hissed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Gabrielle jumped when her captor reached out, running a fingertip lightly along her cheek.  She blinked, realizing that she'd fallen asleep.  "Don't touch me," she snapped.

He chuckled.  "I have something for you," he cooed, holding up the morning newspaper.  On the front page was a picture of Gabrielle and another man.

"It's a picture of the man who kidnapped you," Hunter said, giggling.

"It's– It's not you," Gabby breathed, her heart beating faster.

"No it's not me.  Your friends, they think they're so smart, but they're not, you know.  I am much smarter than they are.  My father is the moon.  He taught me well.  He taught me all about the hunt.  Under the full moon, the hunter's moon, the killing moon, he taught me," he said in an eerie sing-song rhythm.  "The moon will rise tonight, full, so full.  I will hunt tonight, and you will die.  It is the way of things."

He caressed her hair and she tried to jerk her head away, but he didn't notice, lost in his own world. 

"It grows full, engorged, and I must be ready.  The killing moon… all for you. Your moon.  My father.  I will give you to him.  He will feast, and I will grow stronger, smarter, more deadly."

He smiled down at her.  "You, my perfect prey, will make me perfect as well.  We will be joined, you and I, and then I will give you to father, the moon, and he will make me perfect."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Back in the conference room the three men sat in silence until Sinclair shoved himself to his feet, jamming his hands into his pant pockets.  "The analysis indicates that August is our best match."

"And the warehouse was his," Stone acknowledged.  "But this death certificate says he died, eleven months ago."  He checked the computer.  "The next pass'll be done in a little over an hour.  Wanna grab something to eat?  It's after noon and my stomach's startin' to think my throat's been cut."

Sinclair nodded.  "As soon as Alexander gets back; hospital food just isn't that appealing."

A cell phone rang and both men reached for their phones.  Stone grinned and flipped his unit open.  "Yeah, Stone."

"Mr. Stone, this is Amanda Carl.  I'd-I'd like to talk to you."

"When and where?"

"Now, before I change my mind, the gardens at the public library."

"I'll be there."

"Don't make me wait, Mr. Stone.  I might lose my nerve."  She hung up.

He flipped the unit closed and dropped it back into his jacket pocket.  "Amanda Carl.  She's willing to talk."  He grabbed a printed photo of Reece August and the latest enhancement of Gabrielle's abductor.  "Meet you back here in an hour?"

Sinclair nodded.  "Good luck."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Spotting J.J. parked across the street, Stone crossed and told him to head back to the hospital, then crossed the street to find Amanda Carl.  He found the young woman sitting on a bench among a collection of tropical-looking flowers and plants.  He sat down next to her, his look intent.

She took a deep breath and started.  "Please, just let me say this, then you can ask me whatever questions you need to."

He nodded.

"When I was a kid I lived in a series of foster homes.  Some of my foster fathers thought I was there to be their personal sex-toy.  Now, well, let's just say that I like my sex a little… kinky.  I met him at a bar I go to a lot.  He seemed nice, almost kind.  I felt safe with him, but when I took him back to one of the rooms he said he couldn't… perform.  He said it was too dirty… too public.  He asked me to go to his place.  He said he needed to be able to see the sky.  I agreed.  It was… weird. He had all these cameras all over the place.  He wanted to tie me up.  I went along until he started to lose it and started talking about hunting and killing and blood.  I told him to untie me.  He wouldn't.  I fought back and managed to get lose.  He grabbed me.  I kicked him and I ran."

Stone pulled the two pieces of paper out of his pocket and unfolded them.  He showed her August's picture first.  "That him?"

She shook her head.

Stone showed her the second picture.

She shrugged.  "I can't really tell, maybe.  The picture's so dark…"

"Did he tell you his name?"

"No."

"Where he works?"

"No."

"Tell me what he looks like."

"Tall, but not as tall as you, dark brown hair, brown eyes.  He was sort of vain.  At his place he kept telling he how good he looked.  How perfect he was."

"No markings – scars, tattoos?"

She shook her head.  "I didn't see any."

"He didn't say anything about who he was?"

She shook her head again.  "No, nothing.  At the bar we talked about me, what I wanted.  When he took me to his place– It's part of what had me spooked.  All he talked about was his cameras; about looking through them and seeing souls and how un-pure they were."

"Where was his place?"

She reached into her purse and took out a small slip of paper.  "I wrote down the address," she said, handing it to him.

"I appreciate you takin' the time to talk to me," Stone said, standing.  "If you remember anything you think might help us, you have my number."

"I'll call you, but that's really all I know.  They guy was a complete freak.  I'm sorry I didn't talk to you before, but it's hard to admit… you know."

Stone gave her a small reassuring smile.  "Take care of yourself."

He left her sitting on the bench.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Stone walked into the conference room as Sinclair and Addington were grabbing their coats.  "What's up?" he asked.

"Helene found another property owned by August.  Want to tag along?"

"Damn straight," Stone growled.  "The address Amanda gave me was a dead-end; been empty for seven months."

"Well, maybe our luck's about to turn," Peter said, leading the way out.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The abandoned warehouse was empty except for a single chair predominantly displayed on a raised platform in the center of the room.  A single video camera was arranged not far away, the lens focused on the chair.

The three men approached carefully, checking the camera first, then the dais. Stone heard a distinctive click and swore under his breath as the camera began recording.

"What is it?" Sinclair asked, looking from the camera to the ex-SEAL.

"Camera just started.  Must be a motion detector," he said.  "Gotta be a control panel on this thing somewhere."  He started a search, quickly locating the panel on the far side of the dais.  He pried it open and hit the power switch labeled "camera."  The tiny red light blinked out.

"Annoying bastard," Sinclair muttered under his breath.

The phone receiver set into the control panel rang and Stone grabbed it.  "Listen, you fruitcake, where's Gabb—"

"Now, now, let's not get nasty," a male voice cooed on the other end.

Stone's gaze swept over the control panel, and spotting the speaker button, he jabbed it.

"You think you're so smart, don't you," the voice continued.  "But you're not. And I'll prove it.  Here's a riddle for you.  If your friend's near the airport, and is just about to die, what feature of the building she's in will catch her eye?"

The line went dead.  "Damn it!" Stone hissed, grabbing the receiver, jerking it free and throwing it across the room.

"We have to decipher that message," Addington said, moving over to Stone and resting a compassionate hand on the man's shoulder.

The ex-SEAL nodded his thanks to the older man, but stalked away, pacing like a big cat in a small cage.

"Airport…" Peter said.  "The airport… the sky?"

"Ceiling," Stone snapped, coming to a halt.

"Skylight," Addington corrected.

"The full moon," Sinclair guessed.  "Seen through a skylight."

"In a building close to the airport?" Stone asked.  "That's pretty thin, Pete."

"It's all we have," the Brit countered, heading back for the car.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Anything?" Addington asked, moving to stand next to Peter, who waited behind Stone's chair.

The ex-SEAL shook his head.  "Not yet— Wait.  Here it is.  I, uh, borrowed one of the NSA keyhole satellites," he said.  "Looks like there are five possible matches in the area around the airport according to the infrared scan."  He glanced over his shoulder.  "Which one?"

"The most secluded," Sinclair said without hesitation.

Stone tapped a series of keys and the printer discharged the address.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Arriving at the oldest and most dilapidated building they'd searched thus far, Peter was the first out of the car.

A scream cut through the twilight, echoing in the chilly air.

Sinclair sprinted for the building, Stone at his heels, calling, "Pete!  Stop!"

Sinclair ignored the warning, grabbing for the door and pulling it open.  Another scream echoed eerily though the building, urging Sinclair on.

He started into a narrow passage lined by stacks of wooden crates.  Three steps further on Stone tackled him from behind, dragging them both to the ground just before a burst of semi-automatic gunfire ripped into the side of one of the wooden crates, blowing it apart.

"Peter?!" Addington called.  "Stone?!"

Sinclair turned his head and glanced up, noting the size of the hole blasted into the side of the crate.  "I don't think 'thank you' quite covers this," he stated dryly.

Stone pushed himself up to his hands and knees, then climbed to his feet.  "Next time listen to me."

"Peter?" Addington called, rounding the corner.  "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, sir," he said, adding, "thanks to Stone."

The ex-SEAL offered Peter his hand and pulled Sinclair to his feet.  "You're welcome," he said.

Another scream interrupted them and the threesome moved carefully forward, Stone with his Baretta drawn.  In one corner they found a small table with a tape recorder playing.

Stone shook his head, shoving his weapon back into its holster.  "This guy's way ahead of us, Pete."

Sinclair ran a hand through his hair, frustration building in him.  A cell phone rang, and he fished into his pocket to pull it out.  "Sinclair," he said.

"Pete, it's J.J.  The program's done.  Reece August's your man.  He's the only match, ninety-nine percent confidence level."

"The program's done," he relayed to Stone and Addington.  "August's our man, but August is dead. We're missing something."

Addington cocked his head, saying, "August was a medical student, right?  Perhaps he chose a medical answer."

"Faked his death, changed his face," Stone finished.

"J.J.," Sinclair instructed.  "Get Dr. Shivington to help you.  I want files on all the plastic surgery done in the area over the last eleven months."

"Will do," the pilot replied.

Sinclair closed the cellphone and slipped it back in his pocket.

"We're runnin' out of time," Stone warned, checking his watch.

"It's all we have," Peter sighed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Gabrielle watched as her abductor finished rearranging is cameras and video cameras.  That chore done, he moved to set out several medical instruments along one side of a sheet draped table.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

He grinned but didn't look up to meet her angry gaze.  "I'll bet you're wishing you could heal me, aren't you?  I'll bet you're wishing you had real healing powers, but you don't.  Only the moon can heal.  Only the moon."  His head snapped up his gaze meeting hers.  "Do you know why I'm going to do this?"

"Because you're a lunatic!" she snapped, pulling at the restraints.

The man grinned.  "That's good.  That's very good!"  He laughed, the wild keening echoing through the warehouse like a banshee's cry.

"Stop it!" Gabrielle finally yelled, jerking at the restraints again.

The man grinned.  "How would you know?  You don't even understand right and wrong!"

"I know this is _not_ right," she said, her blue eyes flashing.  "Killing is not right."

"It's almost time, you know.  Soon I will make my father proud, and he will ensure that I find my place in history.  He will make me perfect and elevate me.  My reign will live on in the memory of history itself.  My name will be legend.  I will lurk in the nightmares of children, like Jack the Ripper…"  He walked over to Gabrielle, standing behind her and stroking her hair.  "What do you think they will call me, Gabrielle?"

"They will say you were a sick, brutal murderer."

He shook his head, his hands moving forward to cup her face.  His fingers pressed into her skin.  "What will they call me…?  The Werewolf Killer…?  I like the sound of that."  He glanced up, noting the darkness beyond the skylight.  "It's time."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"We've got it!" Addington said, as he walked into the conference room waving a file folder.

He handed the material to Sinclair, who opened the file, scanning the material.  "Plastic surgery, done on the west side… Frank Stanton—"  He looked up. "Stanton… Stanton?"

Stone dropped into a chair and attacked the keyboard.  "Stanton, Frank, part-time janitor here.  He was hired about five months ago.  Home address is 922 Ambrose, here in the city."

"He _has_ to be our man," Peter said.

"There's a follow-up photo on the way over," Addington said.  "Maybe our Ms. Carl can make an identification."

"No need," Stone said.  "We've got 'im.  Stanton bought an old warehouse for back taxes.  1227 South Pond."

Sinclair grabbed the phone and dialed.  "Detective Mossly, it's urgent."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Hunter lit the candles he'd added to the scene, the light dancing off the skylight above them.  He walked to Gabrielle and smiled down at her.  "It's midnight.  In an hour and ten minutes you will be given up to my father.  But before that…"

He reached out, caressing her face.  She tried to bite him.  He snatched his hand away in plenty of time.  He waved a finger at her.  "Now, now, Gabrielle, you really must learn to behave yourself."

Chuckling softly, he moved to one of the crates and pulled a large futon pillow from inside.  He opened the bed next to the sheet-draped table, then smoothed it.  Turning, he smiled at her.  "It is time, Gabrielle."  She tugged frantically at the restraints, and he licked his lips in anticipation.  Kneeling next to the chair, he met her gaze.  "You have to promise me, Gabrielle.  Promise me that you won't try to run away.  If you do, I won't be as nice to you.  I'll have to hurt you."

She watched him as he released one of her hands.  Instinctively she lashed out at him, and he caught her wrist, pulling her arms over painfully.  She gasped.

"This doesn't have to hurt, Gabrielle, not yet.  I can love you.  I can be gentle.  It's my father who will hurt you.  But only he can make me perfect.  I have to give you to him, don't you understand?"

"Let me go," she pleaded.  "Please.  You _don't_ have to do this."

"Yes, yes, I do, Gabrielle.  I will be perfect.  I will live forever, haunting their minds.  The Werewolf Killer.  Their blood will run cold every time there's a full moon."

He released one of her feet, and she forced herself to take a deep breath, forced herself to wait.  He released her other foot.  She struck, forcing her knee into his face with all the strength she had.  He snapped back, collapsing to the floor.  With a shaking hand she freed her other wrist and bolted into the maze of crates and machinery.

Hunter moaned, and rolled onto his back.  "Gabrielle!" he screamed.

She lunged through the crates, her eyes darting back and forth, looking for a means of escape.  The sound of several crates being flung aside forced her legs to move faster.

"Gabrielle!"

She slid around one corner and stumbled to a stop, trapped.  She spun, only to find Hunter blocking her escape.  Blood dripped from his nostrils, painting his lips and chin red.  She searched frantically for a weapon, and finding none, tried to pull the crates down on him.

Hunter moved them, grabbing her, his grip painfully strong.  "Come on," he hissed, dragging her back toward the futon and the table.

She kicked him, landing a blow on his hip.  He grunted and staggered, but didn't let go.  She slapped at him, her fingers like claws.  He grabbed her other wrist and spun her around, slamming her face-first into the crates.  White and yellow lights exploded in front of her eyes and she felt her knees buckle.  He snagged one arm around her waist and dragged her back into the ring of cameras, dropping her onto the futon pillow.  She rolled onto her back just before he dropped on top of her.  He straddled her, and reaching out, he grabbed her hair, twisting it tightly into balls with his fingers.  He slammed her head into the pillow, screaming, "Why?"

The lights exploded across her vision again, and she tried to shake her head, but his grip was too strong.

"I would've been gentle, but you've forced me to prove to my father that I am not weak!"

His mouth descended on hers, smearing blood across her lips.  She tried to turn her face away, but he held her fast, first biting, then licking at her lips and chin. She moaned, trying to buck him off.

"Yes," he hissed softly, his head dipping lower so he could press his cheek against her breasts.  "You are so perfect…"

She reached up, trying to push him off, beating him with her fists, but he ignored it until she sank her nails into his shoulders.  Then he released her hair and grabbed for her wrists.  Snaring them, he pulled them down, trapping them under the crushing weight of his knees.  She cried out, fighting harder as he reached out and ripped her blouse open, cupping her white-silk covered breasts in his bloody hands.

"August!"

He looked sharply over his shoulder.  "No!" he screamed.  "No!  It is too late! She's mine!  She will be my father's!"

"Get off her!" Stone snarled, his Baretta trained on the man.  Next to him, Sinclair leveled his Browning on the man as well.  "Now!"

Hunter pushed himself to his feet and Gabrielle rolled off the pillow, moving on her hands and knees to the relative cover of one of the fallen crates.  He looked from her to the two men, then lunged for the sheet-draped table.

Stone fired.  Hunter collapsed belly-down on the table, candles and surgical instruments scattering to the floor.  His fingers curled around the butt of an old 38 milimeter lying on the table and he rolled over.  Staring up at the skylight, he could see Stone's reflection on the glass, and behind him the full moon.

Peter bolted, placing himself between the madman and Gabrielle.

Stone took a step toward Hunter.

"Daddy!" he screamed.  "You promised!  You promised you'd make me perfect!  You promised!"  Lifting the .38, he aimed for the full moon and pulled the trigger.

The skylight exploded, shards of glass raining down.  Stone dove away, and Peter and Gabrielle pressed closer to the crates.  When the echo of the last crash of glass faded, Stone stalked to the table.  A large triangular section of the pane pinned Hunter's throat to the table.  Unseeing eyes stared up at the moon.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Stone stripped off his jacket, handing it to Gabrielle as the wail of police sirens filled the quiet night.

Addington moved closer to the threesome.  "Are you all right?" he asked.

Gabrielle nodded.  "I will be.  I'm just glad it's over."

"Us, too," Peter said, pulling her into a protective embrace that she seemed happy to cling to.

"I know this will sound crazy," she said, wiping a tear off her blood-streaked cheek.  "But I knew you'd find me.  I just knew."

"Well, thank God we did," Sinclair said, hugging her tighter.

"Amen to that, Pete," Stone replied.

Addington nodded.  "Let's get Ms. Germont to the hospital."

"No," she said.  "I don't want to go to the hospital."

"But, Gabrielle," Peter countered.  "You should be—"

"I'm fine.  Really.  I just want to go home."

"All right," Peter promised.  "As soon as we can, we'll go home."

Three police cars pulled up next to where they stood outside.  Detective Mossly was the first to reach them. 

"This way," Stone said, heading back into the building.

The detective looked from Gabrielle to Stone and back again.  "Ms. Germont, I'm glad you're all right, but I'll need a statement—"

"I know," she said.  "I'll just wait out here."

Mossly nodded, then turned and jogged to catch up with Stone.

Addington opened the car door, and Peter helped her sit down.  She pulled the black leather jacket tighter around her shoulders and leaned back into the comfortable seat.  It was over.

The End


End file.
